Anatomy of an Affair

I recently cleaned out my cupboards and found my old journal. The one I'd written in religiously during my affair with Richard.

It has been many months since I cut contact with him but as I am still forced to see him on a regular basis, some of the pain lingers. I have frequently asked myself what I ever saw in him that was worth putting myself through such pain, both now and then. Was it ever worth it? Would I take him back if it ever came to it? Intrigued, I sat down one evening with a drink and began to read.

The first entry was dated the day after we'd first spent the night together. In it, I am confused, ashamed, terrified. And yet strangely flattered.

Over the ensuing week I ponder our friendship and what it now means; how best to negotiate a rather-altered playing field.

The next week I begin to wonder if we're not begging to be caught as we chat and flirt in front of our colleagues.

What struck me immediately was that from the very beginning I seem to have known how it was going to end. Nagging doubts, thoughts that seemed too raw, ones that I would never express to him get their airing on the lined pages of my journal. I read it and feel the pain all over again.

Yet in an odd way, it's cathartic. My worries and uncertainties have surely been those of others at other times. They seemed huge, insurmountable, and yet I here I am. With baggage, yes, but stronger for it.

I may post some of the entries on here when I get through them all. You may see some of yourself in them.